


The Blue Fairy's Baker

by firbolging



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Caleb Typical References to Fire, Caleb typical backstory, F/M, Mostly Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 17:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firbolging/pseuds/firbolging
Summary: When one particularly stubborn baker resists the temptation of the fey nectar, Jester grows frustrated.





	The Blue Fairy's Baker

**Author's Note:**

> My wondeful collaboration partner was Plant @mightynein69 on tumblr
> 
> Our prompt was ‘sweet’

The Big City folk had forgotten their place. Brick and mortar saw them to sleep each night blanketed the hollow belief that they were untouchable, untrickable. Those who thought themselves untouchable were far more likely to react with anger to being tricked, while those who thought themselves untrickable were so much easier to touch. And this made them the perfect prey.

Bowls of gnarled and intricately carved wood were set upon doorsteps and window sills. Inside gleamed a substance both viscous and supple, and enticingly sugar-sweet to smell. Come morning, and with a great smugness, each and every drop was drained.

If only someone had made a note of the crazed rambling of their grandmother’s great grandmother. But suspicion gave way to greed and so cobbled streets gave way to a panicked public. Legs would not stop dancing. Tongues would not stop tying. Skin would not stop seeping troublesome shades of orange or purple.

In the midst of this chaos, the Traveler let the crowd swallow him, hood pulled low over his eyes. Into his cloak flew a dozen or so creatures, giggling as they returned to their master. The creatures varied in size and colour, but all were legged, handed, and winged. Each had a spot within the cloak they preferred to settle. Some hid in curls, others in the shirt collar. But, upon the pale, bent index finger of his right hand, perched Jester.

Jester was blue from the end of her pronged tail, to the tip of her curled horns. In fact, when liberated of her different coloured clothing, she was almost imperceptible against the day’s sky. It was not this skill that set her apart from the other followers of the Traveler however. It was the way she clapped and cackled, swinging her legs and kicking her boots up against his skin, setting off tiny twinges. It was in the stories she spun them all when work was done and fires were lit. It was between the lines of the scandalous artwork she painted upon city walls when the assigned trickery was done, when the others had retired for the night.

She did not rest until morning came, wings working overtime to sow evermore seeds, to enjoy ever deeper the fruits they bore.

Her little voice carried up to the Traveler’s pointed ears, “Can I go back out? Can I go look? Please!”

“There’s something to be said for caution now and then,” he replied.

With a “Humph,” she crossed her arms and legs. But she did not disobey. Not right that second. Not until the Traveler’s boots trod down one of the back alleys she had been responsible for the night before. That was when an overwhelming scent struck her.

Following her twitching nose, Jester took to the air. It was both familiar and not, and when she reached the source she understood why. Only a handful of hours ago, Jester had placed a bowl on that very windowsill. It was empty now, but the nectar was not gone. Rather, unless her nose was lying to her, it was right beside the bowl. 

There lay a series of plaited pastries baked, unmistakably, with fey nectar. Baked with. Someone had baked with it. 

Beside it was a slapdash sign with a scrawl upon it reading, “Fairies Only. Unsafe For All Others.”

Jester twirled in search of the Traveler, but she had strayed too far. Grateful that he hadn’t seen her failure, she dropped her fairy form. 

On any other day, passers-by might have looked twice at the sudden appearance of a five-foot-five woman with blue skin. But the people of the city were reasonably distracted (and would be until sunset, when the curses faded) and so her transformation went unnoticed. With her natural hands, it did not take long for Jester to stuff every last pastry into her skirt pockets. And this gave her enough time to duck out of sight when a figure moved within the window.

* * *

Caleb’s hands were well-accustomed to heat. Growing up poor in the north of the Empire had meant growing up cold. So when opportunities to learn presented themselves, he prioritised fire above all other magics. When circumstance saw that no further funds would come his way, the fire was all that remained.

The heat of the oven never bothered his hands. What harm was a burn upon what was already burnt?

Gloveless, he pulled out a tray of bread rolls and set them to cool on the table. In the time it took him to do so, the pastries on the window sill had vanished entirely. Along with the note.

He only hoped the instructions had been followed. From the sounds of hysteria on the streets, it seemed unlikely any person other than one of the fey would have risked laying a finger on them. A fool is a fool no matter the day, but to succumb to that scent a second time would have been beyond foolishness.

Custom did not flow all too freely that day and so the rats feasted that night, seemingly the only satisfied creatures within the city walls. While Caleb had not partaken in the nectar of the fey, he had made little to no money from the whole day’s work, and slept with his mind on the windowsill. For fear of a return. Or worse - retribution.

But morning came and the masses were calmer. It seemed to have been one day of horror. One day of fun for the fey folk. Caleb busied himself with baking, humming a little tune, relieved beyond belief. He was beginning to believe the ordeal was at an end. However, when one customer came to collect their daily bread, their eyes settled over Caleb’s shoulder and onto his windowsill.

“What is it?” asked Caleb, turning in a panic, knowing what fear looked like.

No explanation was needed. There, in all of its sweet, alluring terribleness, was another bowl of nectar.

“It’s fine,” he said hastily.

The customer eyed the bread they held before handing it back to Caleb.

“Sorry,” they said. “I just can’t trust it.”

“I understand. But, I can promise you there’s nothing wrong with the bread. Look.” He ripped off the end and took a great bite out of it. Mouth still full, he said, “See?”

Fear stepped aside to allow room for disgust.

He swallowed before he spoke again,“I’d give you a different loaf obviously.”

“I’m alright thanks,” they replied with a tight smile.

Caleb smiled back for as long as they could see him and then, once free from observation, rushed over to the window and grabbed the bowl. Little did he know there were another set of eyes upon him. If he heard the sound of tiny wings beating the breeze beyond the window then he did not piece it together as being Jester’s.

He stuffed the nectar into a cupboard and forced pleasantries for the remaining business hours, baking to burning to cover the sweet smell. When the front door was finally locked, Caleb took a deep breath. He inhaled both burnt bread and nectar. There would be no ignoring it. And so he slaved away into the night, baking the treacherous sweetness into perfect pastries.

With a yawn, he left them on the windowsill once more and, though he knew it was redundant, scribbled out a new sign.

Come morning they were gone. And, while, no nectar had been left, the peace did not last. By noon there was a full bowl and another terrified customer.

He wondered if he should simply ignore the offering, but he had this unshakeable hunch that the nectar was being left in exchange for the pastries he made. That maybe his talent with the oven was the only thing protecting him from some sort of vengeance.

So he vowed to keep baking for as long as the nectar kept coming. And the nectar kept coming. It discouraged business at first, but after investing in a curtain to shield the sill, things went back to, relative, normality. Of course there was still his side dealings with the fey, but he tried not to dwell on that.

A month passed and it was almost easy to relax into his new routine. Almost. Caleb forgot nothing and the weight of what he was playing with did not ever completely lift from his mind. The other shoe was up in the air; it would have to drop eventually.

* * *

Jester had had no intention of returning. Every day she decided to leave it be and every day she buckled. After a week or so, the Traveller took her aside and informed her that their court would be moving on soon.

“Oh,” she said, trying not to sound disappointed. “Okay.”

“But you should stay here.”

“What? No! I go with you. I always go with you.”

He laughed and said, “I think perhaps this is something you need to see through.”

Jester looked down at her feet, full and firm on the ground, and said, “It’s silly. It’s one man.”

“If he’s struck a chord with you-”

“It’s not like that-” she tried to argue, but he held up a gentle hand and she fell silent.

“Regardless,” said the Traveller, “If this is where your heart lies, then I think it’s best you stay with it. For now.”

She gave a shrug of concession and said, “The pastries are super good as well. Like, the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“I’ll have to try one sometime.”

He moved so quickly that he was several feet away in a matter of seconds.

“Wait!” she cried after him. He paused and turned. “How will I find you again?”

“Oh, child,” he said softly. “I’ll never be far.”

With a rustle of wind and a bat of her eyelids, he was gone. Jester wanted to follow as much as she wanted to stay, but the decision had been made for her. She did not resent that so much as she wondered what end the Traveler saw for her in the city. 

Frustration stewed as the pastries baked, day after day. The same routine. Until, one day, when she saw the baker with a tray of fresh nectar pastries in his bare hands, it became too much. Nothing seemed to bother him. Not the nectar; not the heat. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

Jester swept in through the slightly open window before returning to dropping her tiny form, returning to full size.

“Why won’t you just have the nectar?” she demanded, her boots hitting the floor with a thud.

The baker’s eyes widened and he almost knocked the tray, which he had just placed delicately on the table, over entirely. 

Growing paler with each passing second, he stammered, “You know, my entire life just flashed before my eyes.”

“Did you see yourself drinking nectar at any point?” she asked in a mocking tone, kicking at the dust of his kitchen floor.

Hand on his own chest, visibly trying to settle his breath, he said, “I know better than to accept fey gifts.”

“It wouldn’t have hurt you,” she whined. “We only wanted you to have to do a silly dance. Or to have a stupid hairstyle. Instead you just made all those pastries.”

“You didn’t like the pastries?”

She let out a groan before crying out, “They were the best pastries ever!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“You’re supposed to have the nectar. Not me!”

“This is really bothering you?”

“I just don’t understand how you could have resisted it. It smells so good.”

He smiled at her, but there was no happiness to it. No happiness to any of him at all. She didn’t know why, for so long, she’d imagined him as smug. A clever man who was eternally satisfied in that cleverness. 

After a moment he said, “Maybe I woke up late that day. Heard the warnings from the street.”

She narrowed her eyes. All sympathy that had begun to crest the shore of her heart rapidly dragged back into an ocean of anger.

“You’re a baker,” she snapped. “You wake up before everyone else.”

“Maybe I’m a bad baker.”

“I know you wake up early. I see you do it every day.”

“That is creepy.”

With folded arms, she gave a noncommittal shrug. Watching people was her specialty, but even so, she knew it could be creepy. Often she intended it to be so. To instil that feeling of being watched into a particularly cocky brat of a grown up. Mostly men. 

The baker coughed, “Did you come for your pastries? They’re still a little hot.”

“I came to tell you off, but yes, obviously I will take the pastries with me.”

A laugh escaped him. An actual laugh. And that smug picture she’d painted hung itself back on the wall, pride of place. 

Huffing, Jester rushed forwards and piled the pastries into her arms, careful not to show how the heat of them stung her blue skin.

“They’re not too hot?” he asked with irritating sincerity. “You can take a basket if you like.”

“No. They’re fine. I’m fine.”

Jester willed her wings to return to her and flew, still full-sized, towards the window.

“Do your feet not work?” he asked, amusement clear.

“I’m trying to make a dramatic and hasty escape, okay! Leave me alone!”

“Can you not go small again?”

“I can’t carry the pastries that way!”

He let out another hearty laugh and Jester felt herself fumble even further, one pastry slipping free from her grasp as she finally stuffed herself back out of the window.

Once outside, she lingered to say, “I’ll be back tomorrow. And the day after. And after and after.”

“I’m never going to have the nectar.”

“Well then I’ll never leave you alone!” she cried.

* * *

Caleb did not know what to make of his fey watcher. She was certainly a different breed of disposition from the first fey her ever encountered. Though he knew they all served chaos, served trickery. And yes she was charming and no she did not carry herself with that daunting composure he knew all too well. Still, he did not intend to trust her. 

All pretence had dropped after her little outburst; they exchanged nectar for pastries and she even requested certain changes to the recipe. Cinnamon. And then more cinnamon. Until he gave her the jar and let her sprinkle it on herself. 

This, however, was all that they shared. The conversation did not run deeper than baking for some time. Until curiosity seemed to get the better of her.

“Will you tell me your name?” she asked, leaning with her elbows on his windowsill, standing in the alleyway, and picking at one of the regular, non-magical pastries she had invited herself to.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “Would you like any cinnamon with that?”

Holding out her hand for the jar, she pressed on, “How did you know so much about fairies? Like, did you grow up in the countryside?”

“I did.”

“And did you ever have a run-in with a fairy?”

“Ja,” he said simply.

She nodded thoughtfully before filling the air with cinnamon and stuffing the whole pastry into her mouth.

On another day she had perched herself on the windowsill entirely, legs kicking in the kitchen, chatting away about various tricks she’d played. Most of which, to Caleb’s surprise, seemed to involve some sort of penis-based graffiti. He made a mental note to check hidden corners of his own home for such carvings when she left.

Though the time she was absent from his company was growing shorter and shorter by day. She was there when he rose, just before sunrise, and did not leave until the sun had long set. It did not bother him. When she was around, little did. Even the customers.

“The bread’s a little small today,” said one.

Caleb sighed and tried to level himself. He knew nothing had changed. Not the recipe, not the baking, and certainly not the size of the results. 

“I’m very sorry, Frau Welk,” he sighed.

“Do you have a larger loaf anywhere?”

“It’s rather late in the day. I’m afraid all the loaves are spoken for.”

Frau Welk’s eyes narrowed and Caleb dug his nails into the palm of his hand in preparation. Before the inevitable outburst, however, his blue companion stepped forward with a wide smile.

“Hello,” she greeted.

Welk looked her up and down, clearly torn between disparaging the garishness of her clothing and envying the quality.

“See, this man right here,” she pressed on. “He’s a really good baker. I’ve been watching him work for a while now and he’s so good. He knows all of your names. And all of your orders. And he works, like, every hour of the day. Even at night sometimes.”

“Oh,” said Welk, blinking uncomfortably, seemingly uncertain at where this was going. “Well, of course that’s appreciated.”

“Oh, of course!” she cried in mock understanding. “But, you know, I was wondering if you knew what his name was?”

The two women fixed one another with such burning stares that even Caleb felt discomfort from the flame.

After a beat, Welk said, “I’m far too busy a woman to learn the name of every baker in the city.”

“Oh, okay, well, then I’m sure you’re too busy to be wasting your precious time whining about bread.”

Caleb snorted in spite of himself and Welk’s eyes were daggers on the both of them. With a huff, Welk dropped the copper and grabbed her loaf. As she disappeared, Caleb was certain he would never see that woman again.

From his elbow, his fey watcher cried, “Aw, shit, man, balls. I wanted her to tell me your name.”

“You really thought she’d know that?”

“I mean… I hoped.” 

“Well, I appreciated the defence regardless of the intent.”

“Oh, no,” she said, waving a hand. “I mainly wanted to fuck with her. The name would have just been icing on the cake.”

“Or cinnamon on the pastry.”

She laughed and he had to look at the stone floor to save his heart from seizing.

“How about this,” he said, still staring firmly away from her wide smile. “I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours.”

From his periphery, he saw her smile grow impossibly wider as she thrust a hand into his line of sight.

“Hello, my name is Jester.”

He looked up and took her hand in his own, shaking it.

“Nice to meet you, Jester. My name is Caleb Widogast.” He saw a wicked quirk in the corner of her mouth and felt the need to ask, “Is Jester your real name?”

“Is Caleb 

real name?” she shot back at once.

With an uncontainable smile on his part, he said, “Eh, what makes a name real?”

* * *

Jester spoke to the Traveler every single night. When Caleb went to bed and she shrunk herself all tiny, flying to the little makeshift bedroom she’d crafted out of a small ball of wool and a handkerchief inside the roof of a neighbour, she’d close her eyes and call out to him.

He never failed to reply. Even if it was only a single word or a flash of a smile on the inside of her eyelids. 

“I know I’ve been taking too long,” she spoke into the darkness. “Are you mad at me?”

A ghosting of lithe hands clasped her own, followed by a whisper, “Do you feel as though you’re finished with this man?”

She considered lying, but knew better. He would see through her. He always did.

So instead, in earnest, she said, “Not yet.”

Months passed. And passed. And Jester was close to forgetting the task she had set herself. Her attention had turned, almost entirely, onto the more irritating members of Caleb’s clientele.

“You know,” she said after one particularly terrible morning, in which Jester had felt the need to step in at least ten times to defend Caleb from unforgivable rudeness. “I wish that I’d known just how many assholes lived in this city before leaving the nectar out for them. I think I would have enjoyed it more.”

“It is a shame that it’s a one time trick,” he agreed. 

In despair, Jester reached for the jar of cinnamon and upended a portion so gratuitous it made Caleb sneeze over the tray of scones he was holding, fresh from the oven.

“Oh, great,” he sighed.

“Sorry.”

“I am not blaming you… Entirely. But I don’t know that there is time to make a fresh batch before Herr Gardiner arrives to collect them.” Then, with another sigh, he finished, “Still. We can try.”

Jester grabbed Caleb before he could do anything hasty with the affected scones, crying, “Wait! Don’t we hate him?”

“Oh, ja. Very much.”

“Then leave them.”

Caleb looked at her curiously. 

“Jester, are you suggesting we serve my sneeze-covered scones to this awful gentleman?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay, just making sure we’re on the same page.”

“Wait, are you really going to?” she asked with a giggle. “Like, actually?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” 

He fixed her with one of the most somber stares she had ever seen before breaking. Before smiling. Herr Gardiner arrived fifty minutes late to collect his order and complained that they had gone completely cold. 

“I am very sorry,” stammered Caleb, taking back the neatly presented platter. “I have given you the wrong order. Yours are over here.”

Caleb rummaged around for a moment beneath the counter, where Herr Gardiner could not see him, but Jester could. He lit a silent flame in one hand and, holding the platter in the other, warmed the scones from beneath. A minute later he stood back up and the smell of freshly baked scones filled the air.

Herr Gardiner eyed them suspiciously, placing a cautious finger on top of the closest one.

“These seem… acceptable,” he said after a moment’s consideration.

Jester skipped forwards and asked,“Why don’t you try one now just to be sure?” 

He startled. It seemed he had not noticed the bright blue lady in the background, too consumed by himself. 

She did not break eye contact with Herr Gardiner until he barked back, “I’m fine. Thank you very much.” He did not sound grateful.

She was only slightly disappointed. After all, she still knew he would serve them. That he would likely eat one. Or two. That nobody but she and Caleb would have any idea of the full ingredient list. It was silly really. Unless they caught colds. But it was enough to have that secret. Some glee could be gleaned from the situation regardless of effect. 

It took very little to pressure her baker into similar degrees of mischief, but the taste of it had her teeth itching for a bigger bite.

* * *

Jester seemed to have grown restless. Her usual energy had a frustrated jerk to it. One day she fixed him with a long stare, expression indiscernible.

“Everything okay, Jester?”

“Yeah,” she said, face relaxing into a smile. Then, thoughtfully, she added, “You’re never going to drink the nectar are you?” 

He considered her for a moment. She did not seem particularly bothered, just curious. He took his consideration, turned it inwards, and learnt nothing new.

“I don’t know,” he said. “If it’s really important to you, then I will.”

“You don’t trust fey stuff though.”

“I know you well enough now. You’re not like other fey.”

“I think you must have met some pretty bad fey.”

“Ja. I definitely have.”

She simply nodded and he was grateful that she did not push the point. He did not have the words to tell that story just yet.

The thing was, Caleb had gotten so used to her presence that it was easy to forget the purpose of it. She would not leave him alone until he had the nectar. And he had been certain that he never would. But as time passed, it began to dawn on him that perhaps it was not so much that she would not leave, but that she could not.

If she were truly free then she was either consumed with tricking him or enjoying herself too much to leave. He was not narcissistic enough to believe either possibility. Perhaps this was a challenge she had been set. Or a punishment. She was not allowed to leave until one particularly troublesome victim had partaken in the nectar of their court. 

An ever-growing guilt told him to drink the stuff and let her be free of him. After all, he had seen the effects of this particular type of fey magic. It was not malevolence so much as misbehaviour. Whoever it was she worked for, however, did not seem so forgiving - this ‘Traveler.’ If they would force one of his devoted servants into such a circumstance then what might await Caleb for testing their patience?

Caleb had always wondered if he would grow out of his cowardice. It seemed not.

Watching her happily sprinkle cinnamon onto his pastries, however, made him forget his guilt for a moment. So he watched her sprinkle. And sprinkle. And sprinkle.

“Holy shit. That is a lot of cinnamon!” he cried.

“I like cinnamon, okay? It’s the best flavour.”

“Ja, but that is more cinnamon than pastry. Is that one of the nectar ones?”

“Of course.”

“You can’t even smell it under all the cinnamon,” he teased.

Jester stuck her tongue out in response and for a moment they were at ease in the light humour of it. Until realisation hit the both of them; eyes widening in tandem.

“Oh, no,” he breathed, laughing a little.

“Oh, yeah,” said Jester, nodding.

“We shouldn’t.”

“We have to.”

Without any loss of humour, he said, “This is gonna be a mess.”

“I know, right?”

“Okay,” he said, excitement unbridled, “Let’s get started.”

It took a few attempts to get the recipe just right. Too much cinnamon and it would put most customers off, too little would fail to mask the scent of the nectar. In the end they settled on adding in a dash of maple and nutmeg to work with the sweetness rather than against it.

“Oh, man, that smells good. And not even slightly fey!” she said, watching him pull out another tray without wearing gloves. “How do you do that? Like, without it burning you?”

“Part of a longer story.”

“The one about your encounters with fey?”

“Ja.”

“Okay.”

Still, she did not press him. But there was something in her eyes that made him feel uneasy. Not pity, but not far from it. A desire for something. 

* * *

Caleb went to bed early that night complaining of a headache and Jester tried not to worry too much about his health. Turning tiny, she flew to her own bed and waited until she could find the words to explain to the Traveler what exactly it was she was struggling with.

Without invitation, his voice filled her ears.

“You love him?”

She looked up at his shape in the darkness before saying, “I don’t know.”

Jester thought she caught a glimpse of a sad smile in the shadows as he said, “I always knew you were too good to work for me forever.”

“That’s not true,” she laughed through her tears.

“Of course it is! I don’t keep my best and brightest locked away from the world.”

“And I’m one of the best and brightest, yeah?”

“The very best. And the brightest of the brightest.”

Jester’s heart grew and warmed her chest.

“You know,” she said, feeling tears threaten to fall again. “I’ll never love him like I love you.”

“Of course not,” he laughed. “But nobody asked you to choose.”

And that was something she had to let sit for a moment.

She watched Celeb all throughout the next day. Closer, even, than she usually did. His headache had cleared, he said, but his mood was still affected by something, though she could not deduce what. All the while she considered returning to the Traveler’s side, returning to her honoured place on his right hand. It did not feel like the direction she wanted to take. 

And, just when she decided to be happy in her decision, to be at peace with the fact that Caleb would never take the nectar, he broke the air with such a strained voice that the peace within her shattered at the sides.

“I owe you an explanation,” he said.

“For what?” she asked, perplexed.

He did not meet her eye as he continued, “I did meet a very bad fey. In my childhood.”

“Caleb, no, you don’t have to-”

Louder, her shut down her attempt at comfort, her offer of a way out, “I wanted to be a powerful mage. I wanted to go to the best schools with the best teachers and have complete control over what I was only beginning to grasp. I always had an affinity for pyromancy. I learnt what I could from books, but I was still young and untrained. And very impatient.”

Jester pulled her arms across her chest, readying herself for what she was sure would not be a pleasant story.

Caleb took a deep breath and said, “In the forest one day, I was practicing my tricks. I had gone further than I was supposed to, too close to where the fey lingered. One saw me, revealed their full form, and said I had a great untapped talent. It was a shame, he said, that I should not have more power to play with.” There was a second of hesitation and then he pressed on, “He offered me a bowl of nectar. In exchange for trying just a little, I was told I would receive full command of fire. Of course, I accepted the offer. All I had to do was drink something that smelt sugary and wonderful. I was twelve, you know?”

Caleb paused, staring at nothing, scratching at his forearm, worrying the insides of his mouth between his tenth.

“What-” she broke off to swallow hard. Caleb froze in his movements and his eyes flickered in her general direction. “What happened?”

Voice hoarse, he continued, “It was not as simple a deal as I was made to believe.” Jester nodded solemnly, trying very hard not to cry. “But it was incredible for an hour or so. I had more power than I could have ever dreamed of. Complete command over flame? There was no way any academy would send me away. No matter how empty my pockets were.”

Caleb paused once more and Jester did not dare push him, would have happily waited in silence for him to find the words forever.

With a heavy sigh, he spoke again, “Anyway, it didn’t matter. I never went. I spent a little time with my new powers and then I ran home to show my parents what I had learnt.” Caleb raised a hand to his mouth, breath growing evermore ragged. Jester was close to telling him that it was alright, that he was under no obligation to finish his story. But before she could, he had already resumed. “I returned to my village to see… to see my home in flames. My parents did not make it out.”

“Oh, Caleb,” she gasped softly, tears flowing freely. “I’m so sorry.”

He let out a cold laugh and said, “It was not your fault. It was mine.”

“No! No, it wasn’t your fault. You were a child, Caleb!”

“My parents warned me against deals with the fey. I did not listen.”

“Ignoring parents is what children do.”

“Some better than others.”

Jester wanted to hold him, to press his face into the crook of her neck and let him cry without restraint, to run her fingers through his red hair until his head stopped shaking. But the guilt of it, of her people tearing a life apart in such a way, robbed her of the courage to reach out.

“Caleb, I’m so sorry,” she said thickly, wiping her face clean of tears.

Caleb fixed her with a furrowed brow and said, “Do not be sorry, Jester. You have reminded me how to be happy. And it is my selfish, stubbornness that has kept you here.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jester could not read him in that moment, had never seen him look so serious. 

After a moment, in a gruff tone, he said, “You have a task.”

“Yeah, that I set myself.” His gaze snapped onto her and she saw something close to clarity dawning on his face. “What, you thought I was trapped?” she asked, an amused quiver to her voice that she had not intended.

“Not trapped. I just…”

“What and you still wouldn’t drink the nectar?”

“It’s been more of a recent fear. You know, I thought you’d have gotten bored and run off by now if you had the freedom to. And while I trust you, I didn’t know that I could trust your boss not to punish me severely for my lack of compliance...”

She laughed at the thought of the Traveler extracting vengeance. Hard and cruel. Seelie and unseelie. That kind of politics was exactly what kept their court on its own path. 

“You’re saying you’re here completely by choice?” he asked, disbelief clear.

“Yep,” she said, smacking her lips to emphasise the word. “I can go wherever I want.”

“Huh.”

“Although… when we serve these pastries up to the people then we’re gonna have to be anywhere but here.”

“That’s part of the wonder of it. This is such a stale city, is it not?” he asked.

“The worst. You make it okay though.”

“Ja, I could say the same of you.”

Blushing, she made a poor attempt of pushing forth her heart, saying, “Well, there are a lot of places I want to see. Hopefully they won’t all be this stale. Or stuffy.”

“And if they are you could freshen it up a bit. Sprinkle some cinnamon. Give some people extra noses for a day.”

“Extra noses? That’s so good!”

“And it is good to know you won’t be stuck with me.”

“Well,” she began, heart still half-hidden. “I might not be forced to stay with you. But I did set myself a task, you know? I don’t think I’d forgive myself for giving up so easily.”

A ghost of a laugh escaped his lips before he said, “Let’s focus on the task at hand for now. We have a trick to pull.”

* * *

They waited for the perfect opportunity and they were rewarded for their patience. There was to be a big party, held by the fanciest and worst of society. They wanted a hundred pastries. Caleb and Jester prepares themselves for fleeing before the night’s end, though Jester had convinced him they should linger just long enough to hear the screams.

So all was planned perfectly. Caleb was to deliver their boon while Jester waited for him in the alley.

“If they come running out for us…” he said, still uncertain as they waited for the pastries to cool enough for transport.

“I’ll grow my wings and fly us away.”

“Okay.”

“You still trust me?”

“Ja. Of course.”

“So you’ll have some nectar?”

“I said that I trusted you not that I was not stupid,” he said. Jester laughed. “Although, if it means that much to you…”

Caleb took a moment to choose the best looking pastry. If he was going to succumb, he wanted to enjoy the most delicious of the temptation.

“Wait, no,” said Jester, placing a hand on his upper arm to still it. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it would be really funny! But I think I like you a bit too much for that.”

He flushed red and she was far too close to miss it. He considered, for a moment, just shovelling the pastry into his mouth in the hope that it would turn him green or something. Anything to distract; to replace the tell-tale red. But the blush was warm. Just like her hand on him. Just like the pastry he held. Just like how he felt whenever she was close.

“Oh, Caleb,” she cooed, staring right up into his eyes. “You’re too cute!”

Impossibly hotter, impossibly brighter. His face was a furnace. He felt the words dance to the tip of his tongue, knew he was setting himself up to be broken, but a small flicker of hope flamed into courage.

“You know,” he began, pastry still in his greasy hand, “I remember you saying you wouldn’t leave me alone until I had the nectar.”

She let out a breathy giggle and his eyes were firmly on her lips, watching as she said, “Would it be so terrible? If I never left you alone, I mean.”

He shook his head and, before he could fathom what he was doing, the pastry was on the floor and Jester was in his arms, hands clutching at one another, mouths clattering in a clumsy desperation.

She laughed once more and he felt himself laugh with her before they settled into something soft and slower. 

A heavy gust of wind briefly drew their attention to the window. It was open when it had not been before and, unmistakably, a big, bright, green dragonfly danced happily against the rush until it was out of sight.

Caleb was almost tempted to investigate, but Jester placed her palm on his cheek, turning him to face her once more. And then there was no temptation to do anything other than press as many kisses to her mouth as he could muster. To chase her lips as she withdrew.

“Time for that later,” she said, giving him one last, sloppy kiss to the jaw and whispering, “We have a trick to pull.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just gonna thank Plant again for their unbelievably beautiful art! Thank you for taking in our collab <3


End file.
